Many ponies looked at Pinkie Pie, and all they saw was happy. They all saw the smile on her face, heard the songs she sang, and watched the bounce in her step. These were all signs that a pony was happy. Logic dictated that if a pony did these things all the time, without fail, that they were always happy. Logic dictated that there was no way that a smiling pink mare, specifically Pinkie Pie, could possibly be anything other than happy.
It all made sense.
Pinkie Pie didn’t just smile, she didn’t just sing, she didn’t just bound. She did all of these things, but there was more to it. All of her songs were about being together, being happy, wanting others to be happy. There had been sons, ones that she hadn’t started, that had to do with other things. If one were to go by her songs, though, there would be no reason to assumed that she was anything other than one of the happiest mares, and that she was always one of the happiest mares.
It was a quant notion, just being happy.
Pinkie did her best to spread cheer to those around her, to make sure that they felt like each day was better than the last. There were a lot of reasons for that. The most important reason, though, was because she knew that she needed to work to be happy. A lot of ponies just assumed that she ate cakes and was happy, or she just sang and was happy, or she just bounced and was powered by pure happiness.
True happiness was work.
The way that Pinkie got her own happiness was through others. She threw a party here, she comforted a friend there. A song was sang about everything. Every smile that she saw was something that helped her with her own happiness. If other ponies were happy with her, after all, there was no reason why she couldn’t be. If other ponies told her that she was right to do what she did, then there was nothing wrong with what she did.
Not every pony agreed.
It had happened one night, shortly after a party. Applejack had walked up, had started a conversation. Apparently, she had thought that Pinkie’s smile that night had been a little less then genuine. Pinkie had tried to explain that it was real by the end, and that it had been all that mattered. She had tried to explain to her farmer friend that their happiness made her happy, and that nothing was wrong with that.
Applejack hadn’t been happy to hear that, that much had been obvious. She had said quite a few things, some of which had been hurtful. Some of them had been true, really, but it hadn’t mattered. Pinkie’s happiness had been shattered, and the pieces had been smashed under the hooves of one of her best friends. At the same time, she didn’t blame her friend.
Her friend just wasn’t happy.
Pinkie offered a second party, a third party, but they were turned down. She offered her farmer friend a pie, then a cake, and finally some cupcakes. None of them had been enough for the Element of Honesty. As her friend started to walk way, her head shaking the entire time, Pinkie was left with the thought of what she had done wrong. If her friend, one of her best friends, didn’t approve of what she did then the things that she had done were wrong.
Pinkie thought back to the party.
The party had been a small affair, as Rarity had called it. There had been the six of them and there had bee about half a dozen others. There had been all sorts of treats. Pinkie had made sure that each of them the guests who had been invited to enjoy Applejack’s party, had all had something that they had enjoyed. There had even been a special drink that the adult ponies had enjoyed, or at least it was the type that they enjoyed.
It hadn’t been boring, either.
Pinkie had researched farming more. She had been a rock farmer, but apples were something different. That was something that she had gotten as taste of during Applebucking Season. All fruits, and vegetables, seemed to be different. Cherries were different from apples, and apples were different from rocks. Each farming experience was different, and obviously that meant that each type of pony who farmed them was different.
The food had been good, the activities had been good. The music had been chosen from Applejack’s favorite music. That was something that Pinkie Pie knew definitely. She had found a few of the other apples, a few that she hadn’t met yet, in Manehattan. They had told her everything that she had needed to know about Applejack’s favorite songs.
What had gone wrong?
If the food was great, the music was great, the activities were great, that meant that the party had been great. If the party had been great, that would have meant that there was no reason for Applejack to be angry. She would have been happy, just like every other pony in the room. If she had been happy, Pinkie would have been happy. If Pinkie was happy, she wouldn’t have been staring into the mirror with a few tears running down her cheeks.
She wouldn’t have been asking what she did wrong.
When the ponies around Pinkie Pie were happy, she was happy. Their smile, their laughter, they were signs that what she was going was right. Those things were signs that she was doing what was was supposed to be doing. She couldn’t understand any differently. The only thing she knew was that Applejack wasn’t happy with her. She had done something wrong, something that had ruined her friends party.
Pinkie hadn’t felt this bad for a while.
The door to her room slowly opened, but she didn’t move. Pinkie didn’t notice as her five friends looked in on her, each of them concerned. It was a good thing, too, because right now she was busy trying to figure out what she did wrong at the party. If she saw them unhappy, that wouldn’t have helped her at all.
After all, she would have wondered what she did to make them so upset.